"i know what i know when i write it." – Wayson Choy

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the sea of stories (and creation)

look at the sky
a web of stars
without lines,
a game of connect the dots
drawn in invisible ink
escaping with the moon
maybe if we were close enough
you could drag your finger through the constellations
and feel each thread, strum a song
and call it god;
weave a patch
in
the fabric of existence
or spin heaven into a spool
and save it for a time at sea,
letting it out at the quiet of night
(or
make a home in a corner of the room
at the light of morning)
hang tiny beads of dew like
drops
of
honey...
and sail on, unfold into a map
a cornered box of a sphere,
the opened gift of raven's chest
float atop
the sea of stories
and creation.